I’m kinda bummed with my lack of creativity anymore.
I used to make a real point to write on the old blog a few times a month. Then once a month. Maybe. Give it a shot.
Not it’s like, twice a year.
It’s not like I gave up writing. Frankly, it’s all I ever do. If I’m not writing an actual story for an actual newspaper, I’m writing notes and lists and texts and emails and thoughts and ideas and facepage posts. I’m telling the kids when I’ll be home and telling old Jimmer what’s for dinner and telling myself not to freaking forget to take in the taxes yet there they sit… on the counter… I still have 15 days, don’t judge me.
Not crazy busy.
Enough that it took me a solid 10 minutes to figure out how to make a new post because all my neat-o wordpress options have changed.
So it’s no surprise that the passage of time has prompted me to have a good hard think about the passage of time.
“Are you going to be sad when I go to high school next year?”
Actual words from my actual child’s mouth. He’s going to be a freshman in the fall.
Bring on the woe is me, the “oh noes my baby boy,” the fear upon the realization that he’ll be legally behind the wheel in just over two years.
But then I saw some mommy blog crap, and my fears of “cannot believe my baby is growing up” came to a screeching halt.
Now, just a disclaimer. I really dislike mommy blogs. Like. A lot.
Probably the biggest reason that mommy blogs grind my gears is that they always appear to be written by women between the ages of 25 and 35 with only toddlers underfoot. They want to share their sage wisdom or hilarious stories of failures now that they are experienced moms with all the answers.
Even though they don’t yet know the horror of the 45 minute shower. Or wondering where all the hand towels went. Sippy cup problems are pretty ridiculous when your teenaged son morphs into a Disney princess sprawled across the bed shrieking “YOU DON’T KNOW!”
And I haven’t even hit real dating and high school dramz yet.
I often see mommy bloggers as embellishing storytellers with tales so ridiculous and way too long that sound like they come from jackasses who changed their email addresses to DylanandXandersMommy@Ihavenoidentity.com
Scary Mommy is the worst. If you Google “Scary Mommy Truth” you get 420,000 results, with hits including “the truth about divorce,” “the truth about having a third child,” “the truth about snow days” and my very favorite, “the universal truth of motherhood.” Spoiler alert – according to that post, the universal truth of being a mom is that we never again get to use the bathroom alone. Which is a hella lot of bullshit, get some god damn control over your home and your children and piss like a civilized human with the door closed, it literally takes a few seconds. My lord.
There’s also a “confessional” which rivals the Penthouse forum. It’s really weird.
So Scary Mommy and her sister blog sites share those DOWN TO EARTH truths about motherhood that I don’t identify with at all. But at the same time, these things have something like a bijillion readers so obviously people like it and whatever, it’s just me. Others relate so that’s cool.
But yesterday I spotted this one – NOT Scary Mommy – and it irked me off more than usual:
Featured on the “Message with a Bottle” blog, I have to admit, I didn’t get too far into this one. Because the very first lie that this 30-something mom refuses to tell herself is this:
I will no longer pretend that I’m young
Age really is relative, isn’t it? No matter how many 80-year-olds point a finger at me and proclaim, “YOUTH,” there need only be one 20-something to remind me that I’m pretty much ancient. Go hang out with someone fresh out of college if you doubt me. They’ll be like, “Let’s do shots!” and you’ll be all, “Ugh, just a half a glass of wine, please, that’s all I can handle tonight.”
I throw the bullshit flag on that so hard that I throw out my shoulder and dent the ground with the thing.
ENOUGH WITH THE WINE. What is this nonsense where moms are like “oooohhhhh lookey at MEEEEE I love wine!!” We get it, your kids drive you to drink. Newsflash, this started about 16 generations ago. Get with the times.
But second, and far more important, is this crap:
“I’m pretty much ancient.”
I get it. Hyperbole. Hilarious!!!
Now stop it.
For one thing, I didn’t go around in my 20s taking shots every night of the week, and I happen to know a lot of 20-somethings, and they don’t either. I had a job. Then later, I had a KID. Those shot-takers who you cannot keep up with? They aren’t 20-somehtings, they are drunks. No one likes a drunk, not even a recent college grad.
But more importantly, it actually puts true sadness in my (apparently ancient since I’m not even a 30-something mom, I’m a fragile 42-year-old) heart to hear young people lament the loss of their youth, even in jest.
If your age is 30-something… you’re not old
Also not old — 40-somethings and 50-somethings. If you’re 60-somethings, you’re on the threshold. Maybe.
Why do people do this to themselves, this “I’m so old” nonsense. Of all the ways I love to poke at myself, age is not one of them. If you’re already doing the “oh my *deep sigh* I’m soooooo old” and you’re just in your 30s, how the hell do you expect to chase around your teenager. Because trust me — you NEED to chase them around.
You’re too old in your 30s? Aw, honey, middle school moms are going to EAT YOU ALIVE.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the passage of time, realizing that my little ones are not so little anymore.
But I’m reminded daily that while I’m 20 years out of college, I’m young as all get out. I don’t need to be 20-something to be young. I just need to be alive to be young.
My kid is going to high school next year. I look forward to him trying to keep up with his young mom.
And her glass of wine.